The Wronged

_By Michael Wells (taken from Words to Music 2011)The Passengers & The AssayerDeath
closed in on the occupants of the stagecoach to Bisbee as the assayer
looked out upon an open country of scrub brush and cactus. Nathan
Winslow, the newly hired assayer of the Phelps Dodge mining interests in
Bisbee, hopeful of a new life, born anew in the Spirit at a revival,
passed the time observing his fellow passengers.The
noisy coach bounced along the rough road as dust kicked up in the
intolerable heat of the Sonora Desert near Tucson in July. An older man
and what looked to be his daughter, though she was his wife, sat on the
opposite bench. A fidgety man with a deck of cards sat next to the
assayer. All of the passengers, save Winslow, born brown skin,
second-class, he thought, foreigners.“I’d rather walk through this desert than bake in this box,” the young woman said to her husband.“We’ll
be in Bisbee soon enough, you can take a bath at the hotel while I
attend to business,” he said in a tone more akin to a father
than husband.“Would either of you like to play another game of chance,” the man sitting next to Winslow said. “It will help pass the time.”“What’s the game this time?” the older man asked.“Simple
game really, you pick a card, hand it back to me and I lay it down
after a small wager,” the man said flashing the cards as he shuffled.“How does this work,” Nathan said.“Pick a card,” the man said. Nathan picked a card, a six of clubs and handed it back.“I’ll pass,” Nathan said.The man began laying down cards, four of diamonds, king of spades, three of clubs, six of clubs, queen of diamonds.“I bet you five dollars, the next card I pick will be your card,” the man said confidently.Nathan quickly reconsidered the bet having seen his card laid down already.“I’ll take that bet,” he said.The man then grabbed the six of clubs from the cards laying out.“That’s a dirty trick, I’m not paying,” Nathan said.The man laughed, everybody in the coach laughed, except Nathan.“Would anyone like to play another game of chance,” the man asked.“No,” was all Nathan said.“No for me as well,” said the older man.“And the lady won’t play this time either,” he spoke for her.Some time passed in the coach with everyone silent before Nathan spoke up.“What line of business are you in,” the assayer asked the older man.“Rancher,
cattle mostly, name’s Cortez,” he stuck his hand out toward the assayer
but Nathan wasn’t one to shake with a Mexican, dirty people, he
thought. “Javier Cortez and this is my wife Juliana.”“What’s your name, sir, and what business have you in Bisbee?” Javier asked.“Nathan Winslow, I work for Phelps Dodge, I am to be their assayer at the mining operations in Bisbee.”“Phelps
Dodge, you say,” a grimace came over Javier’s face. “They don’t like
Mexicans; I am a Mexican. They replaced several of my people for Anglos
who don’t know shit.” Nathan noted the response, but did not react to it
being outnumbered.“I
am a Mexican as well. Esteban. Urban Esteban, gambler, Faro’s my game.
You Anglos can’t get enough of it. What you take from my people in the
mines, I get back every night in the saloon.”Urban got his first look of approval from most of the passengers on the trip with the comment.A
loud noise rang out in the distance and the stagecoach picked up speed.
Nathan could hear movement on the baggage above him. A head appeared in
the window cut of the stagecoach beside him, the shotgun rider held
there briefly upside down.“Y’all
hold on, we’ve got trouble,” Billie Poke said as he pulled himself back
up top. Loud screams from the driver and snaps of the reigns whipped
the coach into a faster pace than before.The
sounds of gunfire picked up from behind the coach. Louder and less
frequent shots blasted out from Billie’s shotgun above the heads of the
passengers.Shock
paled the brown face of Javier. Juliana clutched Javier’s arm tighter
with each passing gunshot. The no-good Faro punter, sat next to the
assayer trying to look like a man who’s been through this sort of
ordeal, but he was talking too much.“We’ll
be fine,” he said pulling out a small Derringer pistol from his coat.
“We’ll be fine, I’m a good shot.” Terror gripped his face and his speech
was shaky. “What do they want?”The
assayer sat more calm than the others taking stock of the situation, no
doubt valuing the very lives before him and his own. “The payroll,” he
said. “They want the payroll.”Up
front on the boot of the stagecoach, the driver, Ernest Stanley snapped the reigns,
while Billie lay prostrate on the baggage above firing more errant shots
from his inefficient scatter gun pausing to reload after two shots.Directly
behind the coach, two riders rode at full gallop taking pot shots with
Colt revolvers. On occasion, a shot splintered a piece of the coach’s
wood frame. “Don’t worry, if they overtake us, I will be sure to take at least one with me,” Urban said. Pulling
his revolver from his holster, Javier frantically loaded the gun as
bullets fell from his hand to the coach floor as the coach bounced along
the rough road.Behind
the coach, one rider’s black hair whipped behind his hatless head in
the chase. The other rider’s sombrero spoke to his nationality as it
flew behind his head held on by a strap around his neck.Up
on a hill, more accurate shots now hailed down from a Mexican rifleman
laying atop a small ledge on the only spot of relief along the vast open
desert stretch of road.Out
in front of the stagecoach hiding in a bramble full of thorns, sat the only
technician of the outfit, an Englishman. He patiently waited to set off
his charges. The dynamite set strategically where a gully wash forbid
the stagecoach to exit the road to the west and a devilish patch of thorny
cacti hemmed in the stagecoach to the east.When
the stagecoach reached the appointed spot, the Englishman set off his
charges and watched with great joy as the dynamite exploded underneath
the back hooves of the lead horses in the four-horse team.The
front horses, crippled in the explosion, fell in a heap to the ground.
The back two horses took the concussive blast in the face and flipped
into Ernest Stanley, caving in the front of the coach sending Urban into
Juliana’s lap and the assayer head first into Javier’s feet. Unspent
bullets bounced in front of Winslow’s eyes on the floor. The stagecoach’s
momentum carried it into the dry wash to the west; flipping end over
end. Billie
Poke’s fate was tied to the baggage he was laying on. Poke and the
baggage careened into the far west bank of the wash before the stagecoach’s
front axle found Billie’s forehead.Nathan
took a hard shot to the head during the tumble making one last hurried
survey of his surroundings before his eyes rolled back into his head. Urban
Esteban’s arm found its way outside the door during the accident,
breaking so bad the bones shot through his forearm and bicep. He passed
out with his head on Juliana’s knee. Juliana
and Javier were the only conscious riders on the coach when it came to a
rest. As the dust settled, the bandits approached the coach. Javier
pushed the assayer’s unconscious body aside, opened the door of the
coach with pistol drawn into a hail of gunfire that stopped him cold.
Juliana screamed. Urban came to, dazed and in shock. He bolted from the
coach and ran. A Mexican man fired at him three times. Juliana gasped,
then she sat upright as a red-skinned hand holding a revolver reached in
the window cut and fired two shots into her abdomen. As the light
disappeared from Juliana’s eyes, she heard two more deafening gunshots
in the coach. Then nothing.***Two
hours later, a deliberate move of a hand to the coach’s window cut
produced the leverage Nathan needed to raise himself up from the floor
of the coach. The pain of the bump on his head was replaced with gunshot
wounds to his neck and shoulder.Juliana
Cortez sat as perfect as the day she wed in the backseat, her layers of
clothing hiding two fatal gunshot wounds to her torso. Javier Cortez
lay slumped out the left door of the coach. He lay there dead as if his
last act was to check the undercarriage. A Colt revolver lay silent on
the step inches from his outstretched hand.Nathan
stumbled over Javier’s body falling out of the coach into the dry wash
bed. From his prone position he saw Billie Poke’s body, from the chin
down, in the bank of the wash. Turning his head away from the macabre
scene of the shotgun rider, he took inventory of two black horses that
frothed white foam in the Arizona sun. A man’s boot stuck out from the
tangled equine at an odd angle for it to still be attached to Ernest
Stanley.Gathering
his senses as slowly as he could gather his feet, he spotted Urban
Esteban, the no-good Faro punter who had annoyed the passengers with his
poorly veiled cons before the ambush. He was dead. He was face down in a
ditch. Nathan deduced he had run toward Bisbee with no regard for his
fellow travelers when he was shot. The three holes in his back and
protruding bones were the only things more prominent than the deck of
cards that lay about, flapping in the wind. Urban’s last game, an
unfinished hand of 52-card pickup.Winslow
picked up the Colt and surveyed the scene of strewn baggage before
walking over to the horses. Squeezing the trigger twice, ended their
misery. Winslow then checked the gun’s load, four shots. Javier never
got a shot off.Turning
toward the coach, Nathan caught the glimmer of metal in the sun.
Walking over to the shiny object, he recognized his scale. He picked it
up and raised it toward the setting sun. Squinting at the manmade
eclipse, the assayer made a decision.The
Phelps Dodge payroll was on that coach, while it was not his charge,
Nathan was the company man and his duty to get it back. The
Arizona night was nigh as the assayer staggered out of the wash onto a
small trail leading into the cactus dotted landscape of the Sonora
Desert. His mind rattled about between thoughts of Sunday lessons and
hard candies. His moment of clarity now firmly locked away in his
battered head suffering woefully from a loss of blood. Yet, he followed
the tracks with a subconscious determination.The BanditsDiego
and Paolo turned their horses to look back across the vast sweep of
desert the four men had crossed since the stagecoach robbery. They
camped here about midnight after Diego assured Paolo and the others no
posse would be on them so soon. The predawn light was about to be
replaced by an oversized sun on the rise. Gordon,
the Englishman, and Lupan, an outlaw Chiricahua Apache, took the
opportunity to mount their horses. Enriched somewhat by the payroll box
of the Phelps Dodge mining company, they were making plans.Lupan
thought little of the money, save the whiskey and guns it would buy.
Gordon was thinking of the land it would buy him, though he knew nothing
of working the land.Diego
had put the scheme in motion a few weeks ago when he and Paolo were
fired from their skilled mining jobs at Phelps Dodge due to the
segregation policy the company put in place that demoted Mexican workers
to laborers to make more room for Anglos. Gordon
had struck at nothing but had taken a shine to taking from others in
Bisbee. When he wasn’t cheating at cards, he robbed people at gunpoint
in the alley. Lupan was an outlaw to whites and Apaches alike.The
only real ties the men had were in the payroll box, though Diego and
Paolo had worked together for a short time for the Copper Queen
Consolidated Mining Company before it was sold to Phelps Dodge.They
rode west toward Tucson where they would split the contents of the box
and go their separate ways. As far as plans go, it wasn’t an intricate
one. Beyond the Englishman’s strategic placement of dynamite and the
knowledge to set it off at the right time, the only compliment afforded
their plan was that of brazenness.No
doubt, a posse would be after them. No doubt, their escape route would
be easily followed, but they did have a head start. As the sun rose,
Diego pulled his glass from his saddlebag and peered out into the
morning light to the east. Nothing of interest caught his eye.“Do you reckon they should be on our trail so soon?” Gordon said.“No, but I will keep an eye out,” Diego said as he handed the glass to Paolo.Lupan scoffed at the idea. “They will moan to the army before they venture out here,” he said.Paolo
squinted in an awkward fashion as he peered through the glass. Scanning
the eastern horizon he paused, then continued, then returned to where
he paused.“Diego,
there is a spot on the sun that looks like a man,” Paolo said handing
the glass back to Diego. Diego quickly found the spot in question.“No, it is a saguaro with arms, nothing more,” Diego said.Paolo wasn’t convinced and grabbed the glass from Diego again.“I think someone is following us,” Paolo said as he peered into the glass once more.“It’s a saguaro, if someone is following us, where is his horse?”“He does make quite a bit of sense old chap, no one would walk this desert alone,” Gordon said.“This saguaro moves like a man,” Paolo said.“No, the sun is playing tricks on your eyes,” Diego said.“It is not a saguaro, it staggers.”“We killed everyone on that coach, no posse would be on us that fast,” Diego said.“It’s not a posse, but a man, and I think he is following us.”Diego took the glass from Paolo and peered again.“Do you see, it is a man is it not?”“Did Lupan kill the people in the coach,” Diego said.“Si, he did, he put several holes in each of them and I shot the runner,” Paolo said.Diego
looked again, a muted flash of light sparked from the object in the
glass, then again. It was clear in his mind it was no cactus.“Lupan, you didn’t kill everyone in that coach, you go back and kill this man who follows.”Lupan
quickly turned his horse around, and raced eastward toward the Saguaro
man. Diego watched his progress in the glass as Paolo started up a
conversation with Gordon.“I told you someone was following us, we should split the money now and separate,” Paolo said.“How should we split the money?” Gordon said. “Are you supposing we cut the savage out?”“Money splits better with smaller dividers,” Paolo said.Diego
continued watching Lupan in the glass as he approached the man. In the
glass, Diego watched as Lupan was unseated from his horse a short
distance from the man. Diego’s thoughts did not immediately discern what
caused Lupan to fall backwards off his horse.Then
a loud shot rang out. Diego pieced together Lupan’s demise, but the
shot was too loud and too quick in relation to Lupan’s dismount to be
from the Saguaro man.The scent of gunpowder soon gathered in his nose.“He was quite right this Paolo of yours, the money does split better with smaller dividers,” Gordon said holstering his pistol.Paolo sat in his saddle slumped over, blood running down his nose from the hole between his eyes.“What do you say we split this between you, me and the savage if he returns?”“The savage is dead,” Diego said as the distant shot that killed Lupan reached their ears.“Seems our wealth grows greater by the second,” Gordon said.“You killed Paolo,” Diego said.“He was a talkative chap, and he couldn’t be trusted, surely you thought this as well.”“I thought only of robbing those bastards of the Phelps Dodge mining company, nothing more.”“Cheer up good man, your share of the robbery just doubled. Shall we settle up now?”“Settle up, you choose your words more carefully around me.”“Right, though if we split them now, we can both ride our separate ways before one of us decides it is not enough.”“Every word you parlay muerto, Englishman.”“And you speak broken English to affront my sense of civility.”Diego reached for the payroll box and handed it to Gordon.“There, open it and split it,” Diego said.Gordon grabbed the box with greedy hands and wicked thoughts in his eyes.Diego pulled his Colt from his holster and cocked it.“Count the money Englishman and give me my half.”“Right then, I reckon you have every right to point that thing at me.”Gordon split the money, taking care to finger two bills to Diego’s one every third or fifth lay down.“Here is your half,” Gordon said handing over the money.“Gracias senor, now give me your half.” A cold glare met with Gordon’s eyes.“We did not agree to this arrangement,” Gordon said.“I don’t remember agreeing to Paolo being shot either.”“Close were you?”“No, he drank too much, talked too much and smelled of dysentery.”“This puts me at a disadvantage,” Gordon said.A
loud shot rang out as smoke trailed from the end of Diego’s barrel and
Gordon’s gut. Diego snatched the money from Gordon’s hand and kicked his
horse into a quick start.Gordon
clutched his wound, lifting his hand occasionally with a strange
curiosity as to the color of his own blood. Gordon slumped in his saddle
and gave a weak kick to his horse’s flanks starting an aimless trot
into the desert to the east.Diego
looked into the glass again and watched as the Saguaro man mounted the
Apache’s horse. There would be no resting by day today. Diego turned his
horse to the south heading for the safety of the hills.Mounted aloft the Assayer continued with an easy gaitNathan
left Lupan’s lifeless body to roast in the sun. Astride a horse, his
jumbled thoughts regained a sense of place and determination. Ahead,
another rider slowly shortened the distance between the two men.At 50 paces out, Gordon called out to the Saguaro man. “Would you happen to be a chap from the coach?”No answer given as Winslow kept an easy gait forward. Gordon’s
horse had stopped on its own, as he slumped in the saddle. Gordon
raised his head to eye the approaching man on the appropriated horse. He
fired off a shot that was only a couple of inches from being true. The
shot grazed the right side of Winslow’s face and took a piece of his ear
as it traveled on into the desert. The effort of the shot left Gordon
weak and he dropped the gun.“You sir, would you be from the coach? Perhaps, you are the coach’s shotgun employee?”Still
no answer from Winslow as his horse paused next to Gordon’s. The
clicking sound of Winslow’s gun improved Gordon’s posture.“Cash box,” Winslow said, pointing his gun at Gordon’s head.Surprise
rushed across Gordon’s face, “Are you the corker of our crime, I hate
to inconvenience you in this way, but as you see, I am gut shot and a
man in my condition would not be the keeper of the cash box.”BANG! Winslow shot Gordon in the head. The Englishman fell off the horse into a thicket of prickly pear cactus.“Your
water will do,” Winslow said, taking Gordon’s canteen. Winslow
dismounted to search the Englishman’s person. He took his gun, bullets
and blanket. He then mounted Gordon’s horse, which had a saddle. He then
spotted Diego’s escape and cut a diagonal path to intercept, but the
heat of the day was approaching.Dismounted in the scorching sunDiego
dismounted his horse in the oven of the vast open desert. No longer was
he concerned by the pursuing Saguaro man. Diego’s thoughts bounced back
and forth from how he should ration his water and find shade to the
promising thoughts of escaping into the cool mountains with a large wad
of cash.Still
riding for a short time to intercept him, Winslow found the high seat
of the saddle unbearable and dismounted on the shade side of the
Englishman’s horse. The chase slowed.The
searing heat played havoc on the two minds. Diego staggered and led his
horse in semi-circles before correcting his route. Winslow kept his
head down long enough to alter his intercept route enough to have to
make 90-degree turns to correct it.The
Englishman’s horse frothed white foam by half past three. By four
o’clock it gave out. Winslow had given up pursuit of the money by then,
opting to use what little shade the dead horse afforded.Diego kept walking toward the mountains that never seemed to get any closer.As
the sun fell over a mesa to the west, Diego peered through his glass
once more to see no one was in pursuit. Turning toward his destination,
the skeleton of a saguaro cactus rose out in the distance in front of
him. He used this landmark to set his route. His pace was slow and his
water was diminished, but he was now free of the threat of the Saguaro
man. Winslow, now asleep with his flesh burning, was no longer on Diego’s trail.Mounted PursuitOn
the horizon to the southwest with the heat of the day quickly
disappearing a shadow appeared in the blazing red orange setting sun. A
small mounted force of the Eighth Cavalry paused briefly awaiting orders
from Capt. Tieg. Tieg unbuttoned his glass case on his belt. A Mexican
scout, Pedro, had been reconnoitering the large mesa to the pass was as
surprised as anyone when Tieg questioned him about the dark figure to
the east.“Could be a Saguaro, sir,” Pedro said.“Did you see any Saguaros that prominent on the horizon today?”“Many Saguaros here sir, everywhere they grow in these parts,” Pedro said.“Do Saguaros where you come from usually move Pedro?”“They usually stay put,” he said.“Sgt. Sellers, front and center.”Sgt. Sellers rode up to the front of the column. “Yes, sir.”“Sgt. Sellers, take Pedro here and engage that man in front of us.”Sgt. Sellers saluted and broke ranks, Pedro followed. They
rode hard and fast as the column followed slowly behind. As the two men
moved closer and closer it was clear it was a man in their midst. They
rode past a dead horse without acknowledging it, the man staggered about
using his hands in an expressive manner as if talking to someone else.Sgt. Sellers pulled his horse up along side the man, Winslow kept up with his conversation.“Do
you suppose I should have offered the savage my other cheek,” Winslow
questioned the air in front of him. “Should I have prostrated myself to
the Englishman?”Winslow got no answer from the day’s end Arizona air, but Sellers chimed in.“Mister, we’re looking for some people who robbed the stage to Bisbee, you one of them?”Winslow’s
one-sided conversation continued. “I have more in my heart for that
horse than the men who shot me.” Still, no answer from the Arizona air.“I
know why people go loco here, Sgt. Sellers,” Pedro said pulling a skin
flask of water from his saddle. Winslow’s face and hands were blood red
and blistered on one side. Pedro pointed the flask’s opening at Winslow
and squeezed a shot of water in Winslow’s face.“Is
this the holy water of Christ?” Winslow asked again to the air paying
no regard to the two men engaging him. Sgt. Sellers raised the butt of
his pistol to strike Winslow on the head, but stopped in mid-motion.“Would either of you happen to have hard candy on your person,” Winslow asked.Pedro laughed, “Si, senor, they keep my mouth closed when riding.” Pedro handed Winslow a piece of hard candy.“Thank
you,” Winslow said taking the candy. He popped it into his mouth,
sucked on it, then raised his gun and shot Pedro in the face. “Where’s
the cash box you dirty Mexican!”Sgt.
Sellers’ horse bucked throwing him to the ground. Winslow walked over
to him, “The cavalry, would you be so kind to take me to Bisbee, sir,
you should find the cash on this Mexican, I’ve killed them all.”Dazed
and confused from his fall, Sgt. Sellers unholstered his sidearm, fired
and finished the job Lupan failed to do on two occasions. Winslow’s
last gasps of breath were choked by a hard candy lodged in his throat.Sgt. Sellers mounted his horse and put the spurs to it to return to the column.“It
was one of them alright, sir,” Sgt. Sellers said to Capt. Tieg.
“Bastard shot Pedro, after Pedro offered him a hard candy, sir.”“Payroll?” Capt. Tieg asked“No, sir, that one was looking for it, though.”“We’ve got a dead Apache, a dead Mexican, a dead Anglo and what was this one?” Capt. Tieg asked.“Another Anglo sir,” Sgt. Sellers responded.“By my count, that should be all of them,” Capt. Tieg said.“Yes, sir, but there was another set of tracks leading off to the south from the last one,” Sellers said.DiegoOn
a clean patch of sun baked Arizona dirt, beneath a blanket draped over
the drooping skeleton of a Saguaro Cactus, Diego convulsed in the
half-light of the next morning.He
foamed at the mouth as he seized violently beneath the blanket. A few
hours ago, Diego had bedded down for the night. Having traveled
throughout the day, he surrendered to the night at the sight of the
Saguaro skeleton and the clear patch of ground a little after midnight.An
Arizona bark scorpion laid into his sleeping hand as it moved. He felt a
sharp sting, but was too tired to check it out. A few moments later, he
felt a tickle on his unshaven face and waved his other hand only to
entice another sting to his face from another scorpion.His
other hand was numb and twitching. Now his face swelled a bit and soon
the seizures began. Violent seizures extended and contracted every
muscle in his body over and over beneath that blanket draped over that
drooping Saguaro skeleton.No
one was there to help him. No one was there to stop Diego from biting
off a half inch of his tongue. Soon the froth turned from white to red.
Just as soon, his convulsions ceased. He lay there exhausted and
urinated on himself.His
horse and blanket betrayed his location, but the Saguaro man was no
longer his pursuer. Muerto pursued him doggedly, but something more
pressing was silhouetted against the rising morning sun.Boots and saddles, the call rang out, followed quickly by spurs, the cavalry meant to catch the bandit before he stirred.Coming
to his senses, Diego felt the sting of his shortened tongue. He had
pissed himself and the musky odor bothered him. He was exhausted. His
hand and face were swollen and tender to the touch of the slightest
thing, including the normally welcomed breeze.Diego
struggled to load his revolver as he sat in the dust. Slowly, he
completed the task, then it fell from his hand to the ground. He reached
for the cash and slowly raised it.Unable
to form the words, Diego muttered, “Trespass in my country foreigners
and take my job. Take my dignity Anglos, I take your money.” Bittersweet
thoughts of his family in old Mexico fluttered across his mind, with
his good hand he held out his cash to the sun and pitched it south.
“Dinero, Madre,” passed his lips to the breeze that scattered the notes
and Diego passed.